In The Harsh Light of Day
by Alidiabin
Summary: Set in the summer between S8/9. Ziva meditates on the female friendships she has tried to build since moving to America, including with Abigail Borin. She also tries to figure out what she really feels about Ray. Borin has a few thoughts too.


When Ziva first moved to America, she saw them everywhere.

Groups of female friends. In various formations. Sometimes an intimate two. Sometimes a crowd. Often something in between. They came in so many different iterations. Young mothers with strollers. Old women power walking, and loudly complaining about husbands. College girls with their youthful innocence. The world was their oyster.

Gaggles of women walking three abreast down the running paths Ziva liked. How she had silently fumed at them for blocking her path. The paths were for running, not for gossip.

For years she had heard clips of conversations.

_It's such an amazing opportunity._

_I'm just not sure about him. _

_You are amazing, they will see that._

As time wore on, and she opened herself up to the world she had shut herself away from, Ziva realized that she craved that intimacy. She fumed at the women not for blocking her path, but for having what she did not.

Part of building her life in America included building her friendships. It had been so long since Ziva had friends. Especially her female friendships.

There was Abby of course. Sweet Abby, who wore her heart on her sleeve. Abby who's tight hugs gave Ziva the strength to keep standing on the days, when the horrors of the world almost destroyed her.

Abby who had been through it all too.

After all this time, Abby was more than a friend. She was a sister. And, Ziva had one of those once, she knew the terrain.

Over the years there had been so many attempts to find female friends.

There was Deena, her first friend. The one who knew Ziva before she was a big sister. That friendship, had been one of convenience more than mutual interest. Ziva and Deena's mothers passed their daughters across the hall, along with cigarettes and borrowed groceries, as a way of cobbling together childcare.

The two of them were like chalk and cheese. Deena's apartment was quiet, while Ziva's was loud. Deena was cautious. Ziva was daring. Opposites did not attract. As an adult Ziva did not understand how the two girls had ever been friends.

Deena had been her only female friend in childhood. Once, Ziva got to school, she played with the boys. She wanted to play soldiers, and climb trees. It helped that Deena went to a different school.

Then when puberty struck, and it became unacceptable to play with boys. Ziva was alone in the schoolyard, with only her books. Not that it mattered by then, her father had run off with Orli Elbaz, and her mother was fraying at the edges. Then her mother was dead, and Eli was stuck with a domestic life he never wanted.

Ziva could not be a teenage girl, who brought her friend over to listen to pop songs in her bedroom. Tali got that, because Ziva fought for it.

She told herself she did not want it anyway. It was Tel Aviv in the last dregs of the nineties. People were dying. She did not have time for such frivolity.

And then everything happened. Everything happened so quickly. She had already lost her mother. She lost her sister. She had to pull the trigger on her brother.

Deena and her far too open heart was the collateral damage. Deena knew too much for Ziva ever to speak to her again. Deena believed Ari was going to propose to her one day, and Ziva let her keep thinking that. Somebody had to see the good.

When she was in that Army, for those brief few months, before she disappeared for officer training, only to be sent on a secret mission, she avoided female friends. It helped that her unit, was male dominated, and the other women avoided each other.

They had to be even better than the boys. They had to ignore the 'jokes' that were designed to wound. There was no time for sisterhood.

In those wilderness years, where she never traveled on her own name, and the grief she had for her sister threatened to strangle her, were lonely.

Because how could she give love, when her heart was broken.

GI Jane made friendships of pure convenience.

There was Jenny, who she shared Intel with. Jenny, who she saved on a balmy Cairo night. Ziva had told Jenny, not go to that drop alone, but Jenny was stubborn. Ziva had pulled Jenny out of that crumbling building. Ziva had organised for the medivac, at the expense of her own mission. One of Hamas' golden sons was hiding in Cairo, and it would be another four months before Ziva finally got the chance to put a bullet in his head. A bullet with Tali's name on it.

Jenny had more than repaid that favour, two years later, with a job offer. With a chance. Jenny had saved Ziva's life too.

Ziva was a frog in the water that was slowly coming to the boil. She was never going to get out by herself.

In America Ziva's life had grown in ways she could have never dreamt about.

She loved and was loved in return.

She was busy, but she was happy.

In America she lost Jenny's intimacies. It was lonely at the top of the pyramid. Even lonelier if one was planning a secret revenge mission. Back in Cairo, Jenny had asked Ziva if she ever heard for arms dealer with the amphibian code name. Jenny's goals had always been so singular. Ziva's had been back then too.

Even so, when she returned to Israel after the funeral, it took Ziva months to stop seeing Jenny's bullet ridden body when she closed her eyes.

In those Jane Bond days, there had been Monique too.

Monique who was world weary. She knew what a life in the shadows could do to a person.

When Ziva took the liaison position, Monique also seemed to be settling down, taking a desk job at Interpol. There had been a partner for a while.

Their friendship was renewed by sharing Intel, and the occasional email.

_My contact in Interpol_, Ziva said ever so often when the case required.

Then last autumn, as the leaves blanketed the sidewalks, Monique had gone dark. Ziva sent an email and it bounced back. Ziva asked around, and learnt that one day Monqiue had walked in, handed in her notice, and walked out.

The pot of water had boiled over. The frog had not escaped unharmed.

Bank accounts were closed. Monique gave up her lease. The partner had already left months before.

Then, as the horrible DC winter started to subside, Ziva found a postcard in her mailbox.

A picture of the walled city.

A new email address, and an open invitation to visit.

The email's had started again, but Ziva still craved the intimacy of an in-person friendship. Of someone she could call, when she needed to borrow a dress or wanted to complain about the weather.

There had been attempts to build her friends in DC.

There was Midge, in the armoury. The two of them had shared an interest in knives, and now occasionally shared baked goods or recipes. But, they did not hang out outside of work, so their friendship remained surface.

When Ziva returned from that horrible unspeakable summer, when it seemed like everyone else at NCIS did not know how to treat Ziva. They either avoided her, or spoke to her very softly, Midge had been normal. Midge had rolled her eyes when Tony wanted to change his holster again. Midge had not said a thing, when Ziva pulled her shirt up to adjust her own holster and revealed a glimpse of the scars left by the whips of a belt.

Even now, Ziva did not have the words to say thank you. She did not think she ever would.

There was her 'landlady' Odette. Odette, who had secrets Ziva was only beginning to uncover. Ziva leased the cabin, which could be a local safe house in a pinch, and sometimes she and Odette shared food. Odette had been the one to suggest Ziva try pilates, because her body ached now, a side effect from spending three months tied to a chair. Odette was older, and filled a place in Ziva's heart, but it was more like a godmother. A godmother with a gun arsenal.

There had been Courtney Krieger. The green FBI agent they had encountered on a case, in the autumn after the fallout from the Jeanne Beniot affair. Tony was still finding his feet. They had bonded over horses, and the Krieger had asked for fighting lessons.

For six months they met every couple of weeks or so. Courtney's fighting improved. Ziva borrowed one of Courtney's dresses for a date, and then called the next day to describe how much for a disaster said date had been. _How can one man be so boring? _Ziva had asked.

Courtney had been the first person to see Ziva, with straight hair. I_t looks good_, she had said as Ziva pulled it into a ponytail in preparation for their lesson. Ziva had never been the type of girl who cared about her hair, but this straight hair especially with the fringe, was so different. It looked so American, and that was confronting. She had changed so much in those early years in America.

As quickly, as the friendship blossomed it was over. Courtney got a job offer in Salt Lake City, a much wanted promotion, and was gone within the week. Ziva tried to call her after she shot Hoffman, but the distance crept in. The distance was not just geographical. By the time Jenny died and Ziva was on a plane to Israel, the friendship was all but over. There was no drama just distance.

Some friends are there for the journey, some are there for life, Ducky told her once.

After everything that came next, Ziva was sure she was not the type of person who kept friends.

She would have been a terrible friend during that year between returns to Israel. She had one foot in each country, and felt so pulled. She would have had nothing left to give.

Then she met Abigail Borin, and it was an instant friendship. Borin reached out, partly out of duty to the sisterhood, partly out of curiosity about the team, because she had never worked with such an eccentric bunch.

It was exactly what Ziva needed. She was still trying to find her feet. Still, trying to be an American. Borin, ran through Ziva's citizenship questions, as they gorged on sickly sweet desserts. Ziva, listened as Borin described the office politics of CGIS, as they stood in a gym, and Borin practiced her right hook. They canceled as many plans as they made, but there was an understanding. This was the type of friendship, that Ziva had observed on the running paths. An ease with one another. Unwavering support.

Ziva finally felt like a grown up. Like every other woman in her late twenties.

"I've been thinking," Borin said, with a heavy breath. Her sneaker clad feet hit the pavement. Ziva shield her eyes with her hands. It was probably a little warm to run, but both she and Borin had spent this perfect summer day stuck were desperate for fresh air, even if it was thick with humidity. "About what we talked about the other week."

Ziva let out a heavy breath of her own, and all but stopped.

Ray.

They had been talking about Ray, when they met up for brunch, the weekend after Mike Franks funeral.

The weekend after Ziva had skipped Mike Franks funeral, hiding from the world.

Ziva had hogged the conversation, and Borin had let her. Ziva had moved cold eggs around her plate, and dissected the last two weeks.

She had fixated on the empty ring box.

Why had she expected a diamond?

They had been broken up before then. Ziva had been angry that Ray had not mentioned working with EJ.

Old jealousies had stolen her rationality.

_I feel like I have lost my mind_, Ziva said, as Borin sipped her second cup of coffee.

She had recounted Ray's surprise visit, how everything had felt so wrong.

Before, when they were together, usually in a place far away from where the other lived, things were so easy. Ray made Ziva laugh. Ziva made Ray smile. From the outside, they looked like a perfectly happy couple. With Ray, Ziva had decided she could have a nice life.

She would have her something permanent.

It would not be fireworks, but she did not want fireworks.

She wanted peace. She wanted quiet moments.

So, why had it felt like he was in the way when he was there.

Why had she been so quick to break up with him?

_This is your first grown up relationship isn't it?_, Borin had asked with a slight smugness.

Ziva had nodded. Not ready to say the words.

Not able to admit that she was months away from being twenty-nine but acting like a teenager.

Borin had not lectured Ziva, or share tales of her own, but instead encouraged Ziva to keep telling her story.

So Ziva had kept going. Explaining how Ziva had gone alone to find Ray and been taken by Cobb. She had to get to him, to fix things. She did not really want to break up. Franks death had brought all of that to the surface.

Also, a darker thought had clung to Ziva. One she had not shared with Borin. One she would not share with anyone.

Ray might be the best she would ever get.

She was damaged goods.

There were scars both inside and out, and Ray did not seem to mind making love in the dark. Nor did he press her on her past.

Then as Borin sipped her coffee, and gave nothing away, Ziva had described the breakfast she and Ray had shared.

Where Ziva had recited the same lines her mother had said to her father whenever he packed his bags for a trip he might not come back from. Whenever he chose his job over his family. The words were her mother's words, just in another language.

When had she become her mother?

Of course Ray had given her an empty ring box. She was a crazy person.

Who would want to hitch their horse to her broken down wagon.

They had always said they would not let their jobs get in the way of their relationship, and would understand the responsibilities that came with the other's job.

How had everything became such a mess?

When had Ziva become one of those women who could not bear to be separated from her boyfriend?

Borin was already a few meters ahead on the running path.

Ziva sprinted to catch up.

"I think it was the concussion," Ziva said, as she came up to Borin. "It made me confused. It is gone now."

That was the only explanation she could stomach.

Ducky had been so worried about her concussion. He had given her a long lecture about the danger of head injuries as he checked her pupil dilation in the too cold morgue. Mere meters from the drawer that held Franks.

Not that everything was coming apart at the seams.

She had been too quick to patch herself up after they pulled her out of the desert, and it was showing.

"Maybe," Borin said, as they reached a picnic table and Borin stopped. She jogged on the spot for a second, and stretched her arms out. "It's just, I think you're struggling with fantasy versus reality."

Ziva stopped still.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked, trying to hide some of the anger that was creeping into her voice.

She and Borin had been friends for little over a year, what did she know?

"Hear me out," Borin said softly, as she held out her hands.

Ziva kept jogging on the spot. She needed a distraction.

"It's the long distance thing," Borin continued. "Because the two of you met when you were away, and until a couple of weeks ago, he had never been in DC with you, you hadn't integrated him into your day to day life. You have all these memories, and this life together, but it's separate from your day to day life. You said, when you came back from Vermont that it didn't feel like real life when you're with him."

Ziva swallowed thickly, and nodded.

Borin made sense. Too much sense.

"I had this friend once, and she was in a relationship that was winding down, but neither she or her boyfriend wanted to break up," Borin started. "Anyway, she met this guy at work, who was engaged but was having second thoughts. My friend travelled a lot for work, and often with this guy. I don't need to spell out what happened, but it happened for nearly a year. It was like something out of a movie. Anyway, eventually everyone found out. My friend left her boyfriend, and the guy's fiance broke up with him. So my friend and this guy started doing the normal couple things that they could not do when it was an affair. They went to weddings together. They talked about moving in together. And, before long my friend was complaining about her new partner, like she used to complain about the old guy. They struggled because they had spent the last year in this protective bubble, one where real life didn't get in the way."

Ziva looked down at her feet.

Borin had seen right through her.

"So, I have to integrate him into my life here," Ziva said, following Borin's line of thought. "When he gets back, I have to make sure we do the boring things."

Borin shrugged.

"I'm not relationship counsellor, and I am very single," Borin said. "But, it's an idea. I mean it'll be harder with your jobs, when was the last time you heard from him?"

Ziva sighed.

"When he left," she said.

During the past year, Ray had been mostly stateside, or at least able to communicate constantly. Except for a few days in March, and their brief break-up they had been in near daily communication. They had never gone longer than six weeks without seeing each other, and now she was not sure Ray would be home before the new year.

At first, Ziva had been obsessive, running the send/receive function on her email dozens of times a day, and fiddling with her phone like a teenager. Now, she was finding that the longing she expected to feel was not there.

The ongoing relationship had not been part of the plan. Ziva had been so angry when she was sent to Miami, in case the Renoysa's tried to escape through the South Eastern border.

Tony had said he would be there. So had Gibbs. Instead there had been two empty seats.

Just like the dance recitals her father never attended.

Ray had been a distraction. They enjoyed some nice dinners. He made her smile.

A younger Ziva might have slept with him on her last night, and let the summer fling fizzle out.

But, she was older now. More mature. She was careful with who she let in her bed.

Instead they had exchanged email addresses, as friends. His emails made her smile. They had met again at Christmas and finally crossed the line from friendship to something more.

It has been so easy.

She kept her quiet life in DC, and lived a little bit of fantasy with him.

She brushed away her DC problems.

She never told Ray about the Belgravian Brat, and how she had gotten under Ziva's skin.

She had told Ray, that Tony was like a brother to her, when Ray said that all Ziva ever did was talk about Tony.

Tony was much more complicated than a brother, and for Ziva brothers were very complicated.

"I mean you can't do anything about it now," Borin said, as she looked out toward the horizon. The sun was setting. "It sounds like you might need to have a conversation when he gets back."

Ziva frowned.

Everything was on hold until Ray got back.

Her whole life now revolved around Ray Cruz.

She had become one of those women.

Ziva had become her mother. Waiting for her man to come home. Not knowing if he was dead or alive.

She had thought that knowing the job would make it easier.

Instead it made it harder. She knew the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

She had always said she would not be like her mother.

And, here she was.

Family patterns have a way of repeating themselves, she had read once.

She had changed so much in her life to make sure she did not end up like her father, yet she had never considered that it was becoming her mother she had to worry about.

Are children destined to make their parents mistakes?

"What happened to your friend?" Ziva asked.

She wondered if the 'friend' was really Borin, as some people liked to tell difficult stories.

"Oh they broke up," Borin said, her tone surprisingly light. This was not her story. "It was actually kinda amicable, like they realised they could never do the real-life stuff, but that their relationship was an important part of them learning about themselves. They are still good friends. A couple of years later my friend met her husband, and they've been married for a while now."

Ziva frowned.

That was not the answer she had wanted.

Yet, it still gave her a glimmer of hope.

It could still end happily, even if it was no fairy tale.

This was all such a mess.

She thought of the email from Monique, an invitation to spend a week on the beaches of Columbia, or meet somewhere else all together.

To talk about things.

Ziva had been debating making the trip. She had used so much comp time this year.

She needed a second opinion, from someone who knew her before.

She decided that she would put in for the comp time the minute she got to the office the next morning.

"Shall we do another lap?" Borin asked.

Ziva's legs ached.

Borin's tank top, was soaked with sweat.

It was still so humid. DC in June was disgusting.

Ziva looked out to the Western entrance of the park, which was four blocks from her apartment, where a crock pot of chilli had been cooking all day. The plan had been to do a couple of laps of the park, before going back to Ziva's for dinner to hang out. Borin had brought, wine and some expensive sourdough.

Ziva shook her head.

"Let's open that wine you brought," Ziva declared, as she moved toward the Western entrance of the park, watching as people streamed through with picnic blankets and wine bottles. "And, you can tell me about your trip to New Orleans."

**A/N**: I don't own a thing.

The muse has been offline lately. As the joy of Ziva's return wore off, I found that my muse was stifled. I did not have any lingering thoughts. I think, because I have operated in AU land for so long, that I'm kinda new. I do really love how they have finally explored Ziva's mental health though.

Anyway, the muse has been going back and forth about Ziva in the summer between season eight and nine. Our girl was such a mess in those last few episodes, so I wanted to give more background, and expound on the idea that Ray was her first grown up relationship, and she was wanting so badly to find her something permanent.

I had originally planned a much larger fic, focusing on Ziva's absence from Mike's funeral and spending time with Monqiue, and Leyla but this was the only scene that really flowed. Maybe, I'll expand on it one day, but if not at least this is out there. I also wanted to include some of the later episodes, because I know more about NCIS seasons 3-10 than I do my job.

I haven't seen any old episodes in a long time, so if something is wrong in terms of cannon, please forgive me.

Also, the perfectionist in me, doesn't like Borin's dialogue here. I usually have a good ear for speech patterns, but done is better than perfect.

Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts.


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